Chicken Soup For the Newsies' Soul
by McRae Red Conlon
Summary: Just a series of cute one-shots for Race, Mush, and Kid Blink. Note: If you aren't Christian, you won't like some of these stories. Going for a feel-good type of thing here... Anyway, no slash, maybe some OC pairings later on. Enjoy! Oh, and PS-REVIEW!
1. Off to the Races

**Here it is! My series of one-shots for Race, Mush, and Blink. I know I'm horrible about updating Tigress, but I don't know... it just feels... dead. I'm sorryyyyyy! :( **

**Anyway, I hope you like this. It is the first of many to come. PS - If you aren't Christian, you won't like some of the one-shots to come. Be warned. **

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. (Except the horses. Good for me.)_

I could only remember bits and pieces.

"Move out of the way, kid!"

Firm hands shoving me out of the way.

Falling over a railing.

Dropping twelve feet to the ground.

Landing on hard dirt.

Hearing the pounding of hooves approaching.

Shocked screams.

I opened my eyes and my heart leapt into my throat as I saw ten horses galloping full speed ahead, straight towards me. Putting two and two together…. I think I got pushed into the track.

My head and heart were pounding and my arm was numb with pain as I backed into the wall, trembling with fright. People were shouting, trying to reach me and pull me to safety, but the wall was just too high. I don't want to die like this. But if I had stayed at Dad's, I was gonna die worse.

Finally the horses reached me and screeched to a halt. They skittered and jumped around nervously, wondering what this mysterious creature that set foot on their track was. But my heart really stopped when Hades stepped forward. Hades had a reputation for being the giant black horse that is the fastest and cruelest equine ever to enter the world. He has killed other horses before and probably wouldn't hesitate to rip apart an 11-year-old human who dared invade his territory. I held my breath and stood completely still as he approached me, head down, ears pointed back. The entire track fell silent, for all anyone could do was watch and hope. Even Hades' jockey had no control over the jet-black horse.

But then, of course, the unexpected happened.

Hades dropped to his knees and peered straight into my eyes. For a second I thought he might bite them out, but… he didn't. Instead, he gently nuzzled my face and nickered. Cautiously and slowly I stood, tentatively stroking his velvety nose. Another horse made a move to come close to me, but Hades whipped around and snapped at the horse with his powerful jaws. Hades turned back to face me and softly nudged my shoulder.

I was in complete shock. This evil horse had spared, even befriended, an eleven-year-old who had intruded on his turf. Something like this was unheard of in the world of racing. Why, just last month a girl was trampled after falling into a racetrack in California.

Hades finally trotted off and crossed the finish line nonchalantly.

A jockey dismounted his horse, and without a word, led me out of the stone-silent arena.

Afterward, life went on. I went back to sleeping in the alleys and begging for food. Barely getting by. Skipping meals for day on end. Then one day, three weeks after the incident, all that changed.

"Hey, kid!"

I ignored the voice and continued walking. He probably wasn't talking to me anyway.

"Hey! Wait up!" A boy about thirteen years old trotted up to me and rested a hand on my shoulder. I could tell by his cap and the newspapers in his hand that he was a newsboy.

"Who are you and what do you want?" I scoffed, pulling away from his hand.

"I'm Jack Kelly, but you can call me Cowboy. I was just wondering if you were that fella who fell in the track three weeks ago?"

I shot him a distrustful look, but answered. "Yeah, that's me. What about it?"

Jack smiled, and I softened up a little. I think I can trust this guy. "That made for great headlines. Anyway, word has it that you don't have any place to go."

"That's right…" I replied tentatively.

"Well, we have an extra bunk at the Lodging House, so if you want to become a newsie, we'd be happy to have ya. Newsies make about a quarter a day, which I'm guessing you could use."

Happiness surged inside me. Finally, there was a way out!

Ecstatically, I agreed and Jack led me to the 'LH'.

"So, what's your name?"

"Anthony Higgins."

"Well, that won't do. You gotta have a nickname to be a newsie, just in case you get in trouble with the bulls." Jack explained.

"What's the bulls?" I inquired, confused.

Jack stared at me for a second, before laughing. "It's the police."

"Oh…" I muttered.

"Hey, what about Racetrack?" Jack said enthusiastically.

"Huh?"

"As your nickname. Since you seem to have past experiences with the racetrack."

I pondered this for a moment. "Yeah… I think I like it!" I exclaimed, smiling for the first time in six years.

As I entered the LH and was introduced to the other newsies, I realized something.

I wasn't going to die.

* * *

**REVIEW! PLEASE! I GET DEPRESSED WHEN NO ONE REVIEWS!**

** The next one-shot is Mush's story of how he came to be a newsie. Then Blink's story of how he became a newsie. Do you see a pattern? ;)**

** Luv u all, Clove :)**


	2. Where I Belong

**Well, that was Race's story-so now, here's Mush's! I know I'm a fast updater (sometimes XD) I hope you enjoy! **

_Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize from Newsies._

* * *

"Don't stop working, you maggot!"

I tried to keep breathing as I pounded away at the red-hot metal laid before me. Mr. Black was working us harder than usual today at the blacksmith. By midday, my muscles were shaking and a pool of sweat had gathered around my feet. Most days I could bear the backbreaking work and sweltering heat inside the blacksmith, but today I felt that I was about to drop dead any second. Sparks were flying everywhere and had singed my clothes, hair, and skin.

So I tried to keep breathing. But it was getting harder by the second.

Often a girl or two would stop by the window and give us sympathetic looks, but ignoring them was the best thing to do. To the people out there, this was just a job. But no. It was hell. Especially if your definition of hell is a blazing hot, fire-filled place where you are forced to pound scorching hot metal with scorching hot hammers for 16 hours a day.

But my train of thought had gotten the better of me. I didn't see the rack of red-hot iron as it fell and landed on top of me. And in that split second, I felt like I had been caught on fire. My skin was screaming in I lost consciousness, I could hear everyone drop what they were doing and rush over.

"Nick! NICK! Is youse okay? NICK!"

When I woke up, I had no clue where I was. I opened my eyes and found them staring at another pair. I tried to sit up, but firm hands pushed me back down again.

"Oh, no. Youse ain't ready foah dat yet," A thick Manhattan accent instructed.

I heard another voice speak, this time one obviously from Brooklyn. "Jacky-boy, what's we gonna do wit him?"

"You know, I'm right here," I mumbled, barely audible.

The two boys snickered before 'Jacky-boy' replied to 'Brooklyn guy'.

"Well, if he wants, he can be a newsie. Dat's bettah dan da sweatshop he was woikin in," Jacky-boy said.

"Don't I know it," I mumbled again. Finally I opened my eyes and found two boys, one about fifteen and one about thirteen. "Okay, so which one's Jacky-boy?"

The fifteen-year-old raised his hand. "Dat's me. And it's actually Jack Kelly. And dis is Spot Conlon." Jack motioned to the younger boy sitting beside him.

"Uh… so what exactly happened?" I asked, rubbing my head gently.

"Well…" Jack looked to Spot for help.

"Youse got crushed by a big plate of hot metal. Got burned up real bad. Youse been out cold foah three days, and youse hoit so bad you can't be a blacksmith anymore. So yoah smithmatser or Whatevah he's called sent youse to us ta be a newsie. So welcome aboard! Oh, and by da way, newsies got nicknames. So we named ya Mush. Because ya looked like a big burned bowl of oatmeal when we found ya."

"Thanks, thanks so much." I replied, a bit insulted by my new nickname.

Jack shot Spot a look and Spot retorted. "What? Ise just tellin da truth."

I smiled and rolled my eyes. At least I would be out of that blacksmith.

"So… Mush… how old is ya?"

"Fourteen," I responded.

"Whaddaya think, Spot?"

"I think dat he could be a pretty good newsie. Lets see now… Ise gonna say somethin really boring, and you has ta make it sound exciting widdout changing the topic. Got dat?"

I nodded.

"Awlright… Cat rescued from tree in Central Park."

I thought for a moment. "Terrified creature spared from certain death by unlikely individuals…?"

Jack and Spot grinned at each other and turned back to me.

"Yeah, kid. I think youse gonna make a great newsie.

So, the days went on. I healed and got stronger, until the point where I was finally ready to start work. On my first day, I met all of the newsies- Race and Skittery and Dutchy, and a lot more. Race and I became great friends; On the outside he is sarcastic and funny, but once you get to know him he reveals that he really has a soft side. The days went by, then months, as spring became summer and summer became fall. I had gotten incredibly close to the other newsies. No one really gives them a second glance when they pass on the street, but they have lives and problems of their own; like everyone else.

This was the best thing that ever happened to me. I had a family, a place to go. I didn't always have a full stomach or a heavy wallet, but I had people who meant something to me. And the best thing about being a newsie?

I finally am somewhere that I belong.

* * *

**I know, I know, world's worst ending, but whatever! PLEASE REVIEW!**

**Blink's story is next :))**

**Love, clove!**


	3. Psycologically Disturbed Life Story

**Kid Blink's turn! I had fun writing this, even though it pained me to hurt Blink. :( I love the first line, don't ask me why, I just do. hehe. **

_Disclaimer: I only own Dr. Hart. Aren't I lucky?_

Here is my psychologically disturbed beginning to my psychologically disturbed life story.

I was rich. Yeah, really rich. Like, the get-whatever-you-want-by-making-puppy-eyes rich. But of course, my parents just had to drown when I was seven. So I got sent to an orphanage where I was constantly either beat up or put to work.

So, as with all of these stories, I ran away. Typical, but classic. And, again following the usual, I got attacked by two punks in an alleyway. Only to be saved by a teenage boy.

Now here's the catch.

I wasn't actually saved. The boy took me to a slaughterhouse, where day and night I was forced to rip the insides out of live animals. Not fun. But, unlike the orphanage, there was no escape. Or was there? Yep, I hid inside a crate of chicken hearts and managed to get away from the hellhole.

By the way, chicken hearts don't make for a comfortable ride.

But the slaughterhouse keeper tracked me down, of course. And this is the story of how THAT unfolded.

* * *

Gunshots rang in my ears as I sprinted down the streets of Brooklyn. Dr. Hart was right on my heels and the bullets were whizzing dangerously close to me. Panting, I ducked into a warehouse by the river. And luckily, it was stacked to the top with crates. Hastily I jumped inside one of the crates and held my breath, trembling.

I heard footsteps and a gun being cocked, and my heart leapt into my throat. Pleasepleaseplease don't pick the third crate on the right.

The heavy steps became softer, and I slowly breathed a sigh of relief. Slumping down further into the box, I closed my eyes. I won't be able to hide forever. But I sat on something hard and misshapen. I picked it up and hope washed over me. I found that crate that holds the guns.

Cocking the gun, I slowly peered out of the wooden crate. And preceded the be utterly horrified. Not at the sight of Dr. Hart pacing down the aisles of boxes, but at the Italian-looking teen peeking in through the window, straight at me. He had a look of worry on his face, and quietly climbed through the window and tiptoed over to me.

"Hey, kid. Give me a gun," The Italian said in a voice so soft I almost couldn't hear it. I happily obliged and he turned to Dr. Hart, who had heard my rescuer come in.

"Who's there?" He shouted, a wild look of fury in his eyes.

The teen next to me stood up. "Someone a lot smarter than you," He replied in a wise-crack tone, gun cocked and aimed at Dr. Hart.

"If you're so smart, why did you give away where my little runaway is?" And next thing I knew, a cold bullet was plunged into my eye by Dr. Hart and I screamed. No, I shouted. Shouting's more manly.

To this day, I've only seen Racetrack Higgins kill one man before. And it was right there, right then.

"Come on, kid. We has ta get ya medical help," Race pressured as Dr. Hart's dead body slumped to the ground.

The sound of the bullet was still ringing in my ears as we reached the newsboys' lodging house. My left eye was screaming in pain, and I knew that I wouldn't come out of this situation with twenty-twenty eyesight.

God, this is too much for a 12-year-old boy to handle.

"Jack! JACK! We need help, dis kid just got shot in da eye!" The Italian called up the stairs frantically.

"Whoa, whoa, Race, what happened?" Jack exclaimed as he rushed down the stairs.

"To be honest, I don't really know," Race replied.

"Uh, kinda in excruciating pain heah?" I reminded the two impatiently.

"So he speaks," Race said as he and Jack carried me out of the LH and to the doctor.

That was the last thing I heard before I was out cold.

* * *

When I woke up, I could barely move. My entire body was sore and my head was about to explode any second. I fluttered my eyes open to find Racetrack peering down at me.

"Hey fellas! He's wakin up!" Race cried out.

Everyone in the room suddenly burst out of their daze and rushed beside the bed where I was laying.

"How long was I out?" I asked, reaching up to feel if my eye was still there. Instead, I was a little shocked to find an eyepatch where my green eye once was.

"A week. Wese thought you wasn't gonna wake up…" Race trailed off when he noticed my look of disappointment upon finding the patch. "Oh, about dat…"

I looked at him expectantly.

"Well, da doc said we had to take yoah eye out, or you wouldn't turn out so good. So… we just did what we had ta. Ise really sorry, Blink." Race suddenly looked guilty and planted his eyes on the floor.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Blink?" Where did that come from…?

"Oh, we named you while youse was asleep. Race wanted to name you Kid, foah some reason, but Ise wanted to name you Blink. So, da compromise was Kid Blink." Jack piped in as he stepped through the doorway.

"Kid Blink…" I thought for a second. "I think I like it."

So with that, I became Kid Blink, the half-blind newsie.

* * *

**There you have it! Yet another corny ending. Yippee. **

**PLEASE review. I have been kind enough as to write three one-shots in one day. While I was sick. Bow down to the almighty queen. JK. But no, I really am sick. :(**

**I luv u all! LOVE, CLOVER! =D**


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